The Good Sister (11 page)

Nor did she want to grow up if it meant being worried about getting wet in the rain. Daddy called mountain rainstorms
gully washers
, and Merell knew they could come on fast. Even so, she wanted to stay where she was in the whip of the wind, lightning dancing
about her, daring her to be afraid. The air was electric with possibilities. At any second something thrilling might happen.

She couldn’t see the kayakers anymore, but near the far shore a sailboat struggled to reach land. There might be children
aboard. They’d be scared and Merell knew what it was to be frightened. Not the fun kind of scared like storms and caves; the
deep-down scared that made her feel like her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore.

It was good she hadn’t told her secret. Bad things would happen if she did.

*       *       *

By nightfall the lake was socked in under a low ceiling of blue-black clouds, and a cold wind ripped at the trees and rattled
the shingles and shutters. Aldo brought in candles and hurricane lamps and laid wood in the two fireplaces in the great room
and the one in the big bedroom upstairs. Johnny still wasn’t home when the downpour began.

At dinner Simone picked at the plate of lasagna and salad Franny set before her. Afterward, the twins begged her to play Monopoly
and dragged her to a chair. Each time the play came around to her she seemed surprised and stared at the dice as if she didn’t
know what to do with them.

Roxanne guessed she’d taken a pill of some kind.

Simone went upstairs and an hour later Johnny came through the door dripping rain and tracking mud. The twins squealed when
they heard him in the mudroom. He had brought with him a gallon of rocky road ice cream and served the Monopoly athletes huge,
bone-chilling
portions, their third or fourth of the day but Simone had declared it an ice cream weekend and so it was. Johnny entertained
with details of the horseback ride he’d taken to somewhere called Goose Lake, about the ducklings he’d seen and the bear scat
and getting caught in the rain and how the lightning was so close it singed his eyeballs.

Johnny’s love for his daughters was like an adjustment to the thermostat they all felt and responded to. He sat at the table
with Baby Olivia squirming in his arms and his three older girls arranged around him, each starry-eyed with adoration. He
smiled and teased, and when Olivia began to cry, instead of handing her off to Franny he hoisted her onto his shoulders and
told the girls to form a line behind him. They played follow the leader around the downstairs: kick to the right, kick to
the left, jump, tag the sideboard, and turn around. With squeals and laughter and shenanigans they traipsed from room to room,
Franny and Roxanne bringing up the rear, Olivia wailing.

Late that night, like a well-loved child tucked up in a warm bed under the eaves, safe from the elements and content to drift
in a half sleep, Roxanne wished Ty were there with her and then remembered they weren’t getting along and for a while she
worried that she should have stayed in San Diego that weekend, in case he needed her. Her thoughts wandered while the rain
drowned out other sounds in the house. She thought about the scene in the great room and about her stepfather, BJ Vadis, a
large,
burly man with a thick shock of silver-gray hair and piercing blue eyes under bushy brows that moved up and down to punctuate
his sentences. A sober Scandinavian without much humor in him but loving and generous in his fashion, he had adored Ellen
and been kind to Roxanne and Simone.

Roxanne didn’t think he’d ever cavorted like Johnny. Cavorting just wasn’t in his nature.

Roxanne had no particular memories of BJ before she was ten or eleven, when he began to distinguish himself as someone important
to her mother. With one memorable exception, they never ate a meal alone together. Shortly after the party to announce Simone’s
and Johnny’s engagement, BJ invited Roxanne to dine with him at Rainwater’s, an expensive steak house favored by conservatives
in the business community. At the time Roxanne shared an apartment with Elizabeth and was paying off school loans and credit
card debt, trying to save for the down payment on a house. Filet mignon was a rare treat.

“Glad you could come, Roxy,” he said, sounding like he meant it. He pulled out her chair. “I thought maybe those students
of yours mighta wore you out.”

The students at Balboa Middle School did wear her out, but they entertained and stimulated her too. It had been her good fortune
to find the work she loved early in life. That night she had talked for a while about the challenges posed by a classroom
crowded with more than thirty boys and girls deep in puberty.

“You deserve hazard pay for that job. And a martini? One’s not gonna make you tipsy.”

They talked about Simone and Johnny.

Roxanne said, “I like him.”

“Do you suppose there was ever anyone who did not like Johnny Duran?” BJ pulled the olive off the toothpick with his teeth.
“Your mom’s happy, although between you and me and Old Blue Eyes, I think she was hoping for someone with a title.”

Roxanne laughed, though it seemed a little dangerous to be out in public with BJ making fun of Ellen.

“He’s going to be a very rich man someday. I talked to a couple fellas I know, builders like Johnny, and they say he’s a man
to watch.”

Roxanne had only one reservation. “It’ll be a big life. I wonder how she’ll manage.” It wasn’t necessary to explain what she
meant.

“We talked about that. I told him the same thing you would. You’ll always be there to help her out, make sure she doesn’t
get overwhelmed.”

Roxanne remembered her reaction to his words, the impulse that rushed into her making her want to stand up and walk out of
Rainwater’s. She’d never do it but the urge was there and powerful enough to make her hands shake. When had she become a tool
to be handed around as needed?

“Johnny knows she’s young and got a delicate disposition. He promises he’ll take it easy, bring her along slow.”
BJ leaned back, resting his forearms comfortably along the arms of the chair. “And what’s gonna be so hard for her anyway?
It doesn’t take many brains to give a party. All she’ll have to do is hire the right people, and you and Ellen can help her
do that. And what pretty girl doesn’t like to buy a new party dress?”

Roxanne had wondered how much BJ actually knew about Simone, what he guessed or had been told. Her mother had insulated him
from the worst of her moods; and if he noticed that she often missed school and stayed in her room for days at a time, he
never commented to Roxanne.

BJ pulled an envelope out of his lapel. He laid it on the white tablecloth beside her wineglass. “You can open this now or
later. Your choice.”

“What is it?”

“Take a look if you’re curious.”

She slit the envelope with her knife and drew out a check written on BJ’s private account.

“This is our little secret, okay?” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You’re a good girl, Roxy.”

She looked at the check, counted the zeros.

“I don’t understand.”

BJ beamed, enjoying her confusion.

“Why’re you giving me this?”

“Let me ask you something, honey. Your mother and me have gotten along pretty good over these years, wouldn’t you say? Not
too many fights, not a lot of noise? But just so you know, I didn’t always agree with her.” He
toyed with the stem of his glass. “But when we met, she’d been through some rough times so I was inclined to cut her some
slack. I was right out of the military and back then I had a pretty rigid view of married life. I just figured if I brought
home the paycheck it was Ellen’s job to manage the house and you kids. I didn’t object to women’s lib, I just didn’t think
it’d ever apply on my watch.” He snorted softly and shook his head. “Well, I sure was wrong about that. Your mom’s a crackerjack,
was from the git-go.” He grinned at Roxanne. “That woman could sell the Brooklyn Bridge.

“And it made her happy to work. I saw that the more money she made, the prettier and happier she got. I wasn’t going to fight
success like that. Only one thing we disagreed on and that was the way she made you look after Simone. I didn’t think it was
fair to you, and I never thought it was very good for your sister either.”

Roxanne folded her check in half, lining up the edges precisely.

“But the more I pushed one way, the harder your mom pushed the other. She said you were the only one who could handle her.
Made a list to show why.” He counted off, using his fingers. “She had slow motor skills, of course. She was moody and hated
water and threw a fit when she had to have a bath. And she had that thing with her feet. Remember? She wouldn’t go barefoot
or wear sandals. Refused to take off her shoes unless you promised not to look at that funny little toe of hers.”

A broken toe had healed crookedly and for a couple of years afterward, Simone had sworn it wasn’t her toe at all. She swore
someone in the ER had pulled off the old one and given her a new one that never fit right.

BJ drained his glass, and without being asked the waiter brought him another. “I told Johnny you’d be around to help out,
but I don’t think that’ll happen much. Basically, I think their wedding is going to be the Fourth of July for you. Independence
Day. And to celebrate and say thank you…” He tapped the check with his index finger. “I know you want to buy one of those
houses on Little Goldfinch. They’re a good investment. This oughta help you make the down.”

Roxanne unfolded the check and smoothed it out on the white linen cloth. She stared at the figure written in BJ’s almost illegible
hand. The number five with four zeroes after it.

It rained most of Friday and all day Saturday at the lake. Occasionally there was a break in the weather and a flash of sunlight
when the clouds opened up, but these lasted just long enough for the family to look up from their books and jigsaw puzzle
and board games with quickly swamped hope. The only one whose good humor did not seem dampened was Franny. Her stores of creativity
and energy were apparently unlimited. She made bowls of popcorn and pots of hot chocolate with an inch of melted marshmallow
on top. She produced long forked sticks for
roasting hot dogs in the fireplace, and graham crackers, Hershey chocolate bars, and a fresh bag of marshmallows for s’mores.
There were extended games of Chutes and Ladders and Monopoly. When the charms of these faded, she set up a crafts table and
brought out several new boxes of brightly colored clay that excited the twins.

In the great room Roxanne lay under a comforter reading a mystery that didn’t require much concentration, and Johnny, stretched
in a recliner in a far corner, played a game on his phone with Merell hanging over his shoulder, watching. Restless, Simone
moved from chair to couch to another chair, stared out the window, and thumbed through celebrity magazines. She wasn’t interested
in clay, she said, the smell turned her stomach; but Roxanne joined the girls and Franny and altogether there were four of
them at the table, modeling monster faces meant to terrify. The twins poked their scary creatures at Simone, making her fake-scream
and pretend to faint; but in the way of small children they didn’t know when the joke went stale. They giggled and danced
until Roxanne, who could see her sister’s cheer unraveling, got them back to the table. Franny produced yarn for hair and
buttons for eyes and they were all having a good time when Olivia, who had been asleep upstairs, began to cry.

Throwing her monster head on the floor, Victoria announced, “I hate that baby!”

A short, hard laugh and then a sigh escaped Simone’s lips. Olivia’s cries rose to the octave of screams. Johnny’s
fingers froze on the keys of his phone and Merell stepped away from him to a place in the shadows. The screams changed again,
becoming sharper and shorter as if Olivia were being repeatedly stabbed. Roxanne met Franny’s gaze. Victoria hummed as she
retrieved the head of her monster and began to reshape it.

Finally, Simone put down her magazine and left the room.

Franny called after her, “I’ll make a bottle. I’ll put some of her medicine in it.”

Simone returned with Olivia, red-faced and sweaty, crying in her arms. She took the milk from Franny without thanks and settled
on the couch. For a few minutes the only sounds in the room were the baby’s gentle slurping and the rain hitting the awning
over the terrace. Valli and Victoria made lips for their monster heads, fat kissy lips prompting sound effects and fall-off-the-chair
hilarity. Franny shushed them gently; simultaneously they looked over their shoulders at their mother.

Olivia shoved the bottle away and it fell to the carpet and rolled under the couch. She stretched, arching her spine like
a gymnast doing a back bend, widening her eyes as she twisted and squirmed and began to scream again.

Roxanne said, “I’ll take her for a while.”

“No.”

“Simone, I’m stiff from sitting. Let me walk—”

“I’ll do it.”

Franny said, “I’d be happy, Simone—”

“Are you both deaf? I said no.”

The house throbbed with rain, a toneless roar beneath the baby’s cries.

Simone walked to Johnny and stood in front of him. “Why doesn’t it stop?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard.

“You know she can’t help—”

“Not Olivia.” She spoke as if Johnny were stupid for misunderstanding. “I mean the fucking rain.”

Olivia burped loudly. There was a second of silence, followed by laughter. Valli and Victoria began a burping contest.

Simone said, “You told me it would be beautiful up here, Johnny. You promised me.”

He put his phone aside. “What do you want me to do? Do you expect me to control the weather?”

“It’s global warming, isn’t it?”

Johnny said, “You don’t have to worry about global warming.”

“Of course I do. We all do. Do you think I’m stupid?”

The room shrank with tension.

“Simone—”

“I know that by the time our babies grow up the world won’t be worth living in.” She spoke to Johnny as if he personally were
to blame for the catastrophe. “Why don’t we all just kill ourselves and get it over with?”